


Stay With Me, I Don't Want You to Leave

by katquarius



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Eve is a tiresome think-bucket and we love her for it, F/F, Featuring Villanelle’s mild praise kink, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, One Shot, Post 3x06, Smut, Soft Eve Polastri, Soft Villanelle | Oksana Astankova, Villanelle needs someone to stay and Eve is that person, Villaneve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:06:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25101367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katquarius/pseuds/katquarius
Summary: "Dasha’s words rung in the back of her mind--that Villanelle is nothing more than a perfect killing machine. Looking at the broken woman before her, she said a quick, mental ‘fuck you’ to Dasha, and resolved to prove her wrong.'Villanelle?'"ORThe quintessential post 3x06 "Eve finds Villanelle crying in the bathroom" fic, complete with Eve analyzing and rationalizing some of the most important moments in the show and how they affect her feelings toward Villanelle.
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 33
Kudos: 344





	Stay With Me, I Don't Want You to Leave

**Author's Note:**

> Let's all just pretend that Villanelle is in her Barcelona house at the end of 3x06 instead of her hotel in Romania because it's convenient to the plot. Cool? Cool. :)
> 
> The title is from "K." by Cigarettes After Sex

Following Dasha home from the bowling alley wasn’t technically the _worst_ decision Eve had ever made--considering the fact that she was the same woman who broke into Villanelle’s Paris apartment, went behind Carolyn’s back to trust Konstantin, of all people, to help track down Villanelle, and put a hit out on herself to get Villanelle’s help--but it certainly wasn’t one of her most thought out plans. Truthfully, she hadn’t weighed the pros and cons for very long at all. She didn’t disagree with Frank’s original diagnosis that she was a ‘tiresome think-bucket,’ but it was becoming increasingly apparent that she was more driven by instinct than reason when it came to her ‘favorite’ assassin.

She was also increasingly finding that she didn’t care.

Kenny was dead, Niko didn’t want her (and even if he did, Eve wasn’t sure if things could ever be the same between them), and she didn’t really have any other meaningful relationships she cared to uphold--what with her greatly diminished respect for Carolyn, general frostiness toward Konstantin, and the fact that she could hardly call anyone from the Bitter Pill gang an actual friend.

At this point, if Dasha caught Eve trailing 30 yards behind her and promptly shoved her into an alleyway to slit her throat, then honestly, that was a risk Eve was willing to take if the alternative was finally getting some answers.

It wasn’t that Eve actually wanted to die, in fact she was energized by her new lead into the Twelve and was excited to see what else she could learn about them from Dasha and possibly Villanelle, if the older woman proved useful in leading her to the younger. It was just that she didn’t have much of a reason not to be reckless anymore, no semblance of normality left to lose.

It was as intimidating as it was freeing, and Eve couldn’t help but feel wide awake, much like she had in the days leading up to Rome.

Her shoulder started to throb at that particular train of thought. Eve did her best to ignore it, finding that wailing on Villanelle on the bus did wonders to get the raw anger out of her system, and now she was left with an ever present, dull annoyance. Annoyance at Carolyn for using her and Villanelle, for putting Eve in the difficult position she found herself in for the entire time she was in Rome. Annoyance at Villanelle for manipulating her into killing someone, for fucking shooting her like a petulant, violent child the moment things stopped going her way.

But mostly, Eve was annoyed with herself (which wasn’t very surprising, that’s usually how these things go). Because Carolyn was right, the entire operation was Eve’s idea from the very beginning. Eve called the shots up until the second Villanelle slit Aaron’s throat. She could have backed out at any moment. She didn’t, of course, because deep down she _liked_ that Villanelle was on their side, liked that she finally felt like she had some control over an individual who had dictated the terms of their engagements from the beginning. Carolyn simply used that to her advantage, and Eve couldn’t deny that it was brilliant.

And what was Eve going to do, be mad at Villanelle for behaving like a psychopath? She was fully aware of what the other woman was capable of, and had been on the receiving end of her manipulation before. She should have known better than to assume Villanelle was being transparent with her, shouldn’t have been so surprised and upset when the gun appeared in her bloodied hand.

The worst part, the part that took months for Eve to admit to herself, was that she wasn’t as upset about literally killing someone as she was about the fact that now she, Villanelle, and likely many members of MI6 knew that she was willing to commit murder to save the life of… another murderer. Because, again, Villanelle didn’t actually force Eve to do anything. Not using her gun gave Eve a reason to step in, of course, but Eve could have simply watched the light drain from Villanelle’s eyes before she slid to the ground, never to take another life again. Perhaps she could have escaped while Raymond was choking Villanelle, or even swung the axe at Raymond after he disposed of Villanelle. Two killers down, the world a safer place. But no, even if it was inexplicable (or maybe all too easy to explain), she simply cared too much about Villanelle to watch her die right in front of her. The fact that Villanelle had a gun didn’t matter. The fact that Eve used her axe did.

And the fact that she would do it all over again was the final nail in the coffin.

Being honest with herself has never been one of Eve’s favorite pastimes, especially after the year she’s had, but at least it was refreshing. Owning up to her actions paved the way for some progress. She had already reined in her anger toward Villanelle, and was chipping away at the annoyance, too. Perhaps it wasn’t so far fetched for her to simply catch up with the other woman for an honest conversation about her promotion, clandestinely gathering more information on how the upper echelon of the Twelve operates.

Although, Villanelle wasn’t stupid, and would probably be thrown by Eve trying to open some type of casual dialogue. The two of them didn’t really do casual, they did stabbing and shooting and hitting and kissing on a public bus.

Eve still couldn’t believe they kissed. Well, she could, because she’s the one who initiated, but it still felt surreal. After six months of radio silence (which Eve had been fine with, honestly, her wound still aching and the betrayal still raw), the sight of Villanelle on a grimy London bus, at midday on a Tuesday, knocked her for fucking six. The rage took her first, sudden and all-consuming, and she was pleased to get a couple of whacks in. Then the fear as Villanelle recovered quickly and started walking Eve back, effortlessly subduing her protests with a smug grin until they were face to face, only inches apart, a horizontal mirror image of their face off in Tivoli. And, finally, Eve let herself feel some sort of- what, relief at seeing Villanelle again? Excitement? She wasn’t particularly aroused, the scuffle did more to initiate her fight or flight response than it did to fire up anything else within her.

Perhaps it was that for the first time since Rome, she felt alive again. Villanelle’s perfume filled her lungs, heady and aggressive and her hair was tickling Eve’s forehead and her eyes were that same pretty and intense shade of hazel that she remembered and dammit, Eve was just sick of pretending she didn’t want her. She’d tried, _God_ no one could say she didn’t try, but it really started going downhill when she left the earpiece in to screw Hugo and apparently even a bullet in her shoulder wasn’t enough to keep her away. After all this time, and all the water under the bridge, Villanelle still pulled her into her orbit, the same way she did before they even met, when Eve was secretly compiling a file of murders by a supposed female assassin.

So Eve finally allowed herself to give in, there on the bus, and a kiss should’ve changed everything, but it didn’t, because it just felt right. Inevitable. They were inevitable, even though it was going to screw over Eve’s professional career to admit it. It wasn’t a great kiss, their eyes wide with distrust and bewilderment, both of them still high on the feeling of their long awaited reunion, but it was perfect for them, for their story.

Also perfect, if Eve does say so herself, was her brutal headbutt afterward, serving the dual purpose of getting Villanelle off of her and showing her that they weren’t quite hunky dory yet. The kiss was genuine, albeit highly emotionally charged, but Eve needed Villanelle to understand (or at least believe) that there was still a lot unsaid, and the wordless confession of Eve’s attraction was not an invitation into bed, or a promise for a future romantic entanglement.

That’s what Eve hoped to convey, at least. She wasn’t sure it had landed, though, as she looked out of the back window of the bus and saw Villanelle, ever the optimist, sporting a giddy yet tentative grin as she gazed back at Eve.

Again, at least Eve tried.

Honestly, bringing up the kiss would probably be the best way to start a dialogue with Villanelle. It’d help keep her on her good side, and Lord knows Villanelle was always down to flirt with her. 

Eve didn’t want to escalate anything though, still not quite finished compartmentalizing the fact that she had kissed Bill’s murderer/the person who shot her/the person who had killed probably at least 50 other people. And then she’d have to address the fact that she not only did it willingly, but would do it again, and kind of really liked the way their noses bumped together afterward.

Fuck, yeah, she definitely shouldn’t bring up the kiss.

She was broken from her stupor when she realized Dasha had arrived at her destination, a giant apartment that was nothing short of decadent. As Dasha inserted a key and pushed open the, what, 12 foot, remarkably heavy oak door, Eve knew immediately that Dasha had brought her to Villanelle’s house. She sucked in a breath, wondering if that meant Villanelle was home, or if Dasha was just dropping by. Not really wanting to deal with two highly trained assassins, especially since the older one didn’t seem to like her very much, Eve resolved herself to waiting outside, either for Dasha to leave so she could enter, or for Villanelle to leave so she could follow.

She only had to wait around ten minutes before the door reopened from around the corner of the house. She heard the pin tumblers of the keyhole clicking, then saw Dasha retreating from the apartment. Knowing she wouldn’t be able to get through the door, she paced the perimeter of the house, looking for an unlocked back door or window. 

Fortunately for her, Barcelona was hot as shit, so numerous windows off the main room were not only unlocked, but propped open. Without a second thought, she pulled herself through the closest one, immediately shed her winter coat (Why did she bring it to Spain, anyway?), and started to look around. It was impeccably furnished, much like Villanelle’s Paris apartment, yet a little bit cluttered, unlike the Paris apartment. 

A brunette wig had been discarded on the kitchen table, and a black tasseled jacket was lying in a heap on the floor. It was clear that she had just finished a job, and Eve felt her anticipation grow as she realized Villanelle was likely in the apartment with her. Oh, God, she still hadn’t worked out what to say.

Eve recalled an earlier conversation, when Villanelle told her and Konstantin in a cafe that she just wanted to do her job so she could go home and take a bath. As if on autopilot, her feet started carrying her toward a couple of doors that could lead to a bathroom, and she hesitantly poked her head through them, eager to see the other woman but not really wanting to find her mid-bath. That would be rude and definitely uncomfortable, though Villanelle had undressed Eve in her own house, so, quite frankly, maybe it was Villanelle’s turn to be the naked and vulnerable one.

In any case, she didn’t have to cross that bridge, because when she peeked into the second room, she saw a fully clothed Villanelle sitting against the tub with her eyes closed, head resting back on the lip.

Eve’s eyes zeroed in on the bloody, though not actively bleeding, wound on her upper arm, then scanned the room, finding red tissues and gauze pads strewn all over the floor, and a sewing kit, medical scissors, and a couple of scalpels sitting on the edge of the tub by her left shoulder. She returned her gaze to Villanelle’s arm, and noticed that the gash looked to be hastily stitched, and was angry and puckered.

The most disturbing part of the scene in front of Eve, however, wasn’t the blood all over the floor and in the tub, but the fact that Villanelle’s shoulders were shaking, her eyes were screwed shut in the effort of holding back tears (unsuccessfully, as Eve could see the stains tracing down her cheeks), and her lips were downturned, the bottom one curling over.

Eve didn’t know what to think, what to do. She was struck with the realization that she didn’t know if this was normal or not, for Villanelle to cry. If she went by the traits of a textbook psychopath, and believed Villanelle’s ‘I don’t feel anything’ speech, then all of this would seem greatly out of character for the ruthless, smug asshole she’d come to know. Had Eve not been looking hard enough? Was this version of Villanelle always lurking under the surface, only rarely peeking through, like when Eve had held her face in her hand in her kitchen, or had something happened, something powerful enough to shock some genuine emotion into her?

After all, Eve didn’t think the wound could have caused such a breakdown, not for an experienced assassin who’d been stabbed in the gut and likely had a very high pain tolerance. And this wasn’t an act, either, who would Villanelle be performing for, alone in her house?

No, something had happened to her, and Eve felt the curiosity bubble inside of her, wanting to fit one more piece into the Villanelle-shaped puzzle she’d been assembling for a year.

More prominent than the curiosity, though, was an intense need to protect. Eve was flooded with the same sympathy she felt back when she was talking to Anna, learning about Villanelle’s troubled past. Despite the words of MI6’s psychologist, explaining how psychopaths are fundamentally lacking in empathy and can’t be cured, Eve couldn’t help but want to help Villanelle. From their very first meeting, Eve registered the lost look in the other woman’s eyes, and wanted nothing more than to help her feel found. Maybe it was foolish, or even absurd, but Eve just knew, _knew_ it in her bones that there was more to Villanelle than meets the eye.

It seemed like maybe this was finally her chance to break through Villanelle’s lowered walls, to see a bit of the real Oksana that she kept guarded so closely, and offer her some comfort.

Dasha’s words rung in the back of her mind--that Villanelle is nothing more than a perfect killing machine. Looking at the broken woman before her, she said a quick, mental ‘fuck you’ to Dasha, and resolved to prove her wrong.

“Villanelle?”

* * *

It was loud.

Everything was so loud, and Villanelle couldn’t slow her thoughts down enough to get the world to quiet down.

She felt like she was being pulled in a hundred different directions, her mind bouncing from the smell of gasoline as she took the train back to Barcelona, to how Hélène would probably want to have her killed now, to how Konstantin was still choosing Irina over her, to the snap of her mother’s neck before she crumpled to the ground, to the wound in her arm sending fire through her veins whenever she moved, to how she didn’t want to leave Eve but she had to, it was the only option because she couldn’t take this anymore, couldn’t take the way her brain wouldn’t stop working for even a second to give her a reprieve.

She had messed up a kill, truly fucked up for the first time since she saw Eve in the hospital bathroom and proceeded to accidentally kill four extra people. She was in danger, and she was in pain, and she was feeling things she hadn’t felt in… maybe forever? She was just so _sad,_ and that alone was a foreign sensation. She hadn’t become so visibly upset since Eve hadn’t come to see her Amsterdam kill, and she suspected that half of the drama of that reaction was due to the drugs still coursing through her body.

Half of her was disgusted by the display of emotion, as she sat crying against the tub, but the other half couldn’t find it within her to give a shit. This was a normal, human reaction, right? If a normal person killed their mom after realizing literally no one in their life wanted them around, not even their own family, they’d be pretty upset, too. At least that was one small comfort; maybe she was becoming normal, which would certainly help her lay low when she finally got out from underneath the Twelve’s thumb.

She isn’t sure, as she’s mostly enjoyed her stint as an assassin up until now, but Villanelle thinks it might be nice to finally be normal. Eve, abnormal in her own way, liked her because she was different, because she wanted to get inside Villanelle’s head and figure out how all the gears fit together. If Villanelle was normal, Eve might not want her anymore, but surely another normal person would. Maybe Villanelle would finally find some regular person to watch movies with.

That was a comforting idea indeed.

Not comforting, though, was the gash still screaming in pain on her upper arm. Her one-handed stitches were shoddy, and Dasha’s weren’t much better, even with both her hands and one of Villanelle’s helping. She really was going to kill that old crone one day. Payback for how she treated her during training, payback for getting her back into this mess, payback for the shitty stitches that were sure to leave an ugly scar, and for the way she feigned care as her cold hands brushed away her tears.

Villanelle didn’t want Dasha to order a pizza, she wanted someone to actually give a shit about what happened to her, about how she was doing, about her childhood hopes and dreams and her favorite movies.

Konstantin had come close, once upon a time, but their relationship was too business first and he had let her down one too many times for her to rely on him anymore.

(She wanted Eve to be the one, and she thought there was a real possibility that she was, especially after the kiss, but she wouldn’t allow herself to dwell on that anymore. She had to leave Eve behind, and it’d be better for everyone if she just tried to forget about her.

Not that Villanelle had ever been successful on that front, but she was nothing if not persistent.)

Villanelle’s only remaining chance was her family, her trip to Grizmet a last ditch effort to see if she truly had a home. And she had, for a little while. Although they were strange and a bit irritating, she found that she liked her brothers, and in many ways, didn’t feel like she was so different from them. She even tried to give her mother a chance, humoring her with the denim jumpsuit and wondering if perhaps her mother had changed.

She hadn’t, though, and it was a rude awakening. She was still the same--abusive toward Bor’ka, unwilling to admit her own faults, unwilling to admit that she and Villanelle were the same. If Villanelle couldn’t be normal, she’d at least like to know that she wasn’t alone, and that it wasn’t her fault that she was the way she was. Right up until her death, her mother wouldn’t admit it, staring at Villanelle with dead eyes, hardly struggling when Villanelle lifted one hand to her chin and the other to the top of her head.

Villanelle was still remorseless, didn’t feel bad about taking lives. But now, she couldn’t kill anyone without thinking about her mother, or the horrible, all-encompassing loneliness that settled in her bones the second her mom hit the ground.

Out of all the shit she’s carried with her for her entire life--the way her mother treated her, her time at the orphanage, her relationship with Anna, her time in prison, Konstantin and Eve’s betrayals--nothing has hit so hard as this.

She was a child not even a mother could love, and became an adult her mother still couldn’t love, and it was all just really shit.

So, she decided to sit in the bathroom, her emotions leaking out of the corners of her eyes, until the shooting pain in her arm turned numb, or until her mind quieted down, whichever came first. Then, she could deal with the other problem.

Unfortunately, she never got the chance.

“Villanelle?”

* * *

Villanelle’s eyes snapped open, her head lifting off the lip of the tub as she stared at Eve hovering in the doorway. “Eve?”

“Hi,” was all Eve could think to say.

Villanelle stared at her in disbelief for a second longer. Then, as if she suddenly realized the state of her face, she started hastily wiping the tears from her cheeks, sniffling. “What are you doing here?”

“I, uh, followed Dasha here. I’ve been trying to find information on the Twelve.”

“Oh,” Villanelle replied, and looked down at the floor.

“But I was hoping to see you!” Eve quickly amended. It was true, but Eve was surprised at how fast the confession fell from her lips. Seeing Villanelle upset was affecting her more than she initially anticipated, and she couldn’t stomach the thought of upsetting her more than she already was.

Villanelle nodded but didn’t reply, eyes trained on her socked feet extended in front of her.

“Can I come in?” Eve tried.

“Sure.”

Eve stepped fully into the bathroom. She already didn’t have a plan set in stone to deal with a normal Villanelle, so she was navigating uncharted waters with this new Villanelle. She gestured to the mess on the floor and in the tub. “What happened?”

Villanelle shrugged, face pinching ever so slightly as the stitches pulled. “I was on a job. He fought back.”

Eve noticed, then, that her accent seemed stronger than she remembered. Of course, they hadn’t spoken much on the bus, so perhaps Eve had started to Americanize their conversations from six months ago in her head. Still, it made her wonder.

She sat down beside Villanelle’s outstretched legs, facing her. “Are you okay?” she asked gently.

Villanelle shrugged again, this time schooling her face to betray the pain she must have felt. “It will heal.”

“No, Villanelle,” Eve said, scooting closer and raising a hand to cradle Villanelle’s cheek, thumb tracing over the tear tracks, causing the other woman’s eyes to snap back to hers. “Are you okay?”

Eve felt Villanelle’s jaw clench beneath her hand, and watched as her eyes grew glassy.

“I- uh,” she started, but didn’t seem to know how to finish, throat bobbing as she swallowed.

“It’s okay,” Eve encouraged, smiling softly in a way she hoped was reassuring. “You can tell me.”

Villanelle’s eyes darted around the bathroom for a couple of seconds before she took a deep breath and turned back to Eve, gaze unwavering. “I killed my mother,” she whispered, and Eve could tell that she was waiting for the fallout, waiting for Eve to pull her hand away and denounce her, to call her a monster, to leave her once and for all like most people would.

Fortunately for Villanelle, Eve was not most people, and wasn’t all that shaken by this development. The first thing she thought was that this explained the accent, she must’ve gone back to Russia for a while, and Eve wondered who else she might’ve seen. Then, she realized that the most surprising aspect of the anecdote was that Villanelle even had a mother to kill in the first place, as Anna had told Eve that she had died. In any case, Eve knew about Villanelle’s attraction to older women, and it didn’t take a genius to trace that back to a less than ideal relationship with her mother.

“How did it feel?” Eve asked, wiping away the most recent tear.

Villanelle cracked a small smile at the fact that Eve didn’t blow up in her face, then it dropped as she furrowed her brow and considered the question, eyes averting to her feet again.

“Good, for a moment,” she asserted with a nod. “I thought it was something I needed to do, to move on. I’m not sure now. I can’t kill anyone anymore- well, I can, but I don’t want to. I can’t do it without thinking about her, and about how-” she cut herself off with a gasp, looking back to Eve desperately.

Eve wasn’t sure where she was going with that last bit, and wasn’t sure if prodding or just letting it be would be more helpful to Villanelle. She was curious, though, always curious when it came to her.

“About how…” Eve prompted, trying not to sound like an interrogator.

“Eve, everyone leaves,” Villanelle said quietly, looking up at Eve again.

And the pain in her eyes had Eve’s lips parting in surprise, letting out a small “oh.” She hadn’t expected that, anticipating some kind of confession of guilt or remorse, or, even worse, an explicit revelation of past trauma. Instead, Villanelle simply summarized the crux of the issue in a few short words, and it wasn’t too difficult to fill in the blanks. Eve remembered how Anna got Villanelle sent to prison, how Villanelle pleaded Konstantin not to break her heart, and how Eve herself rejected her in Tivoli. Of course, it was easy to consider Villanelle to be the villain in all of those scenarios, as she was always the one literally wielding a weapon. But, judging by the look on her face, Villanelle clearly wasn’t the villain from her point of view, and why was hers less valid than anyone else’s?

Eve didn’t know the details, but Villanelle’s mother must have been the first to leave her, probably at a young age, setting her up for a lifetime of abandonment issues. And instead of giving her closure, visiting and killing her mother turned everything on its head, opening the Pandora’s Box Villanelle had desperately been trying to keep shut.

“Oh, Oksana,” she breathed, full of sympathy and trying to hide how deeply saddened she was by Villanelle’s words.

Villanelle’s face crumpled at that, and Eve leaned forward to wrap her in her embrace. She tucked Villanelle’s face into her neck with the hand that had been on her cheek, and wrapped her other arm around her waist, pulling her close as she cried, careful not to brush against her injury.

Eve guessed that this was probably the first time Villanelle had let herself be so vulnerable with another person in quite some time, so she let her ride out her overflow of emotions for as long she needed, with minimal gentle shushing.

Eventually, the position became uncomfortable, what with them sitting on the ground face to face, and Villanelle’s sobs had subsided, so she pulled away.

She wiped her face with the palms of her hands again, eyes downcast in embarrassment, and Eve’s heart ached. She wondered if the problem wasn’t that Villanelle had no emotions to show, but that it was drilled into her to hide them. She acted like a psychopath, sure, she fit the majority of the bullet points, but could that be an act as well, born out of necessity in order to survive? Anyone can learn to lie and manipulate, anyone can choose to ignore their sense of empathy and the difference between right and wrong. And plenty of people committed murder without having a personality disorder.

Maybe Villanelle was normal, once, but throughout the hardships of her life, found that it was easier to push everything down. And it stayed down, for a while, allowing her to truly enjoy the killing and the manipulating and the nice things the Twelve gave her. It was a defense mechanism of sorts, until a catalyst brought it all back to the surface, what, two decades later?

Or maybe that wasn’t it, either, but Eve had studied criminal psychology, and knew enough about psychopaths to know that they don’t feel emotions this strongly, at least not your run of the mill psychopaths. Contrary to popular belief, they _do_ have emotions, but they are muted, subdued, not powerful enough to leave you sobbing on the bathroom floor.

And if Eve let herself think about it candidly, did Villanelle’s diagnosis even matter? Her supposed psychopathy hadn’t prevented Eve from doing… pretty much anything in the past, why would it start now? She had kissed Villanelle and later walked into her house unarmed, despite reading her entire file and despite the fact that Villanelle literally shot her. And, honestly, Eve stabbed Villanelle first, so there was that. Maybe they _were_ the same, like Villanelle had insisted all those months ago.

And if Eve let herself think about it really, extremely, candidly, in the way she hadn’t had the nerve to before, she knew that some psychopaths were capable of real, romantic relationships. Yes, they looked different, and required a monumental amount of patience and effort, but they were possible if both parties were willing to work at it. The biggest roadblock for Eve wasn’t even Villanelle’s career or her tendency toward violence (What did that say about her?), but that she wasn’t yet sure if Villanelle understood any semblance of love besides possession. Eve was halfway to in love with Villanelle, she realized, as she watched her pull herself together, but wouldn’t be able to commit to a relationship if Villanelle kept throwing around phrases like ‘You’re mine.’

Those were heavy thoughts, though, and a conversation for another time.

“I’m sorry you’re feeling this way, Villanelle,” she whispered truthfully.

Villanelle shrugged again, her face dry now, but red and blotchy. “It’s okay.”

It very obviously wasn’t, but Eve wasn’t going to argue with her.

Villanelle looked Eve’s body over, like she was really seeing her for the first time since she entered the bathroom, so Eve took the opportunity to do the same. Villanelle’s hair was down, as it had never been in front of Eve, swoopy around her forehead and loose on her shoulders. The brown roots fading into honey blonde suited her, and Eve thought her hair looked soft, even if it was a little tangled. She was wearing a tight black tank top and tight black pants. Eve realized that she quite liked her toned arms, muscled shoulders, and the protrusion of her collarbones. And she couldn’t tell from this vantage point, but she imagined Villanelle’s ass looked great in those pants. Which was… new. Although, a lot of her firsts had been with Villanelle, like her first time stabbing someone and her first time being shot, so perhaps it was fitting that Villanelle was the first woman she’d ever been attracted to.

It was probably rude to objectify someone after an emotional breakdown, though, so Eve brought her gaze back up to Villanelle’s face.

“I got your shirt wet,” Villanelle said, pointing to the small, dark spots on Eve’s left shoulder, and sniffled.

Eve peered down at herself. “Yeah, well, I broke into your house,” she deadpanned.

It had the desired effect. Villanelle laughed, a smile that Eve realized she’d missed reappearing on her face.

Eve smiled back, struck by how easy it was to exist with Villanelle without death or murder or the Twelve or MI6 hanging over their heads.

She didn’t want to linger on unpleasant topics, but she couldn’t help but feel like their conversation wasn’t finished. “Is there anything I can do to help you?”

Villanelle’s eyes lit up as her brows rose, like she knew exactly what she wanted to ask. Eve wanted to know what she was thinking now more than ever. She didn’t get to find out, though, because uncertainty flooded Villanelle’s features, and the light was gone, like she was afraid of the answer she’d receive if she was honest.

They’d have to work on that, Eve decided. Rather, Eve needed to figure out how to assure Villanelle that she could tell her anything, and Eve wouldn’t judge. Eve was so far past judging Villanelle against any sort of normal code of conduct that it was honestly laughable.

Villanelle didn’t know that, though, so she settled on a safer question. “Will you stay for a bit?”

Eve didn’t miss the cheeky callback to their conversation on Villanelle’s Paris mattress, but didn’t want to set up this exchange as a parallel to that one. There was already enough blood on Villanelle’s floor. So, she refrained from giving the same, exasperated and noncommittal ‘sure’ as last time.

“Of course,” she replied, and meant it. She gestured to Villanelle’s left bicep. “Can I clean you up, first?”

“Okay,” Villanelle breathed, a little surprised. Eve could guess that Dasha hadn’t been so caring with her when she’d popped in earlier.

Eve stood up to grab a washcloth from the lip of the tub and rinsed it in the sink. She knelt back down by Villanelle’s arm, gripped her elbow gently to keep her still, and began to wipe the blood away.

“Has it already been disinfected?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” Eve nodded, setting the washcloth aside and reaching for a gauze roll and some medical tape that was lying out. She carefully wrapped the wound and secured it, but before she had a chance to stand up and clean out the washcloth, Villanelle quickly grabbed her face with both hands and pulled her into a kiss.

The impact of their mouths nearly had their teeth clacking together, but once Eve’s mind caught up with what was going on, and she realized that she’d actually really like their second kiss to be a bit better than the first, she softened her lips and let them meld to Villanelle’s.

They didn’t move much, both women too nervous to deepen the kiss. When they broke apart a few seconds later, Villanelle’s hands still cradling Eve’s face, and Eve’s hands having risen to cup Villanelle’s elbows, Villanelle was looking at her like she was waiting for confirmation on whether or not this was okay.

Eve thought the way she had kissed back was answer enough, but maybe Villanelle thrived on more concrete cues.

So Eve leaned back in, and thought about how this should have felt like she was sealing her fate, like she was making a life-changing decision that she’d never be able to undo, but really, all she could think was _finally,_ and it was indescribably freeing. The bus kiss didn’t really count, so emotionally charged and violent, and Villanelle pulling her in just now wasn’t Eve’s own doing. But this third kiss (Eve wonders when she won’t be able to keep count anymore, and hopes it happens soon) was the big one, the one that said _I want this, too_ and _you don’t have to be alone anymore._

When their mouths met for the third time, Eve didn’t hesitate before licking along Villanelle’s bottom lip, Villanelle’s lips parting with a small sigh to welcome Eve’s tongue. Villanelle didn’t taste like much besides her light pink lipstick, which was likely thoroughly covering Eve’s mouth by now. It was definitely different, kissing someone who wore lipstick, but Eve found that she liked the messiness of it. She also liked that everything about Villanelle was soft. Eve was now sitting in her lap, straddling powerful but soft thighs, one hand tangled in soft hair and the other cupping a soft shoulder. She had spent the last 15 years kissing someone with a moustache and stubble, pressed up against wiry muscles and hard planes, and while she had never had a problem with it, a couple minutes spent wrapped up in everything Villanelle had her wondering if she’d ever be able to go back. Fuck, they hadn’t even had sex yet and Eve was already wondering if she was going to be ruined for everyone else.

Oh, fuck, they were about to have sex, weren’t they?

Eve had not tracked Dasha down in a bowling alley in Spain expecting to get laid a few hours later. She hadn’t even been with her literal husband in months, so she was, like, very unprepared. But she was also currently sitting on the lap of the most beautiful woman she’d ever seen in her life so she wasn’t about to let an opportunity like this pass her by. Villanelle wouldn’t mind, would she?

As if on cue, Villanelle’s hands slid from Eve’s face, across her shoulders, down her sides, and around to her ass, squeezing lightly.

Yeah, Villanelle probably wouldn’t care. Eve already knew her libido was through the roof.

Eve groaned against Villanelle’s mouth at the sensation, and Villanelle’s tongue slid along the backs of Eve’s top teeth.

Eve felt her hips grind into Villanelle’s involuntarily, and realized that she didn’t really want to do this on the bathroom floor. She pulled her face away from Villanelle’s with a soft, wet sound, and felt her body gear up even more at the sight of Villanelle’s eyes, dark with desire, piercing her own.

“Take me to bed,” Eve rasped, voice hoarse.

Villanelle didn’t need to be told twice. She let go of Eve’s ass, allowing her to stand up, and quickly followed suit. She grabbed Eve’s hand with her good arm and led her out the door, around the corner, and through the double doors of her bedroom.

Once they were at the foot of the bed, Villanelle turned to face Eve and stooped to recapture her lips, hands going to the hem of her turtleneck.

“This okay?” she asked against Eve’s mouth, lifting her shirt slightly.

Eve was taken aback by her courtesy. “Yes, _God_ yes,” she confirmed, raising her arms to help Villanelle pull her shirt off. She watched as Villanelle’s eyes immediately darted to the scar on her shoulder, from the bullet’s exit wound. Villanelle raised a finger to trace over the line, brow furrowed in thought. Then, she took in the rest of the newly revealed skin reverently.

“Show me yours?” Eve asked. At Villanelle’s nod, Eve moved to peel her tank top up and over her head. Villanelle winced as the fabric brushed against her bandaged arm. “Are you sure you’re up for this?” Eve whispered, not wanting to sound like she was backing out, but not wanting to hurt Villanelle, either.

“I’m fine,” she assured, and took Eve’s hand in her own so she could press it to her stomach.

Eve’s thumb trailed along the neat, pink line, more healed than her own scar, while her fingers curled around the warm skin of Villanelle’s side, underneath her ribs. “Does it ever hurt?”

“Not really, anymore. I touch it when I think of you,” Villanelle replied earnestly, still holding Eve’s hand to her body. “Does yours?”

“Yes. It aches when I don’t move around for a while, and there’s a sharp pain when I move the wrong way.”

“I’m sorry.” Villanelle moved to stand behind Eve, brushing her hair over her shoulder to look at the scar from the entry wound. The hairs on the nape of Eve’s neck stood on end.

“Are you?” Eve asked, only slightly resentfully. Villanelle didn’t seem like she was being cruel or deceitful, hadn’t been this whole time, but Eve hadn’t known her to ever apologize for anything.

“I’m sorry that you’re in pain. You were supposed to die, and then it wouldn’t hurt anymore.”

Well, then. Eve wasn’t sure if she should feel outraged at the confession that Villanelle was going for a kill shot, or touched that she didn’t want her to suffer. (Eve had a feeling that pretty much every other person on Earth would fall into the first category, but Eve had given up on normal a long time ago. Good for Villanelle, she had found the one person who could roll with her strange form of compassion.)

Still, Eve couldn’t stop the dry comment from forming on her tongue. “Gee, how very thoughtful of you.”

Now back in front of her, hands lingering along Eve’s waistband, Villanelle nodded solemnly. “Yes. Can I take your pants off, now?” 

Eve huffed out what was supposed to be an incredulous laugh, but it came out a little more endeared than she had planned. Oh, well. “Go ahead.”

Villanelle made quick work of the button and zipper of her slacks, resting on one knee as she drew Eve’s pants down and off her legs. Eve’s bra and underwear were mismatched and worn. Again, she had gotten off a plane a couple hours ago. She couldn’t be bothered to feel embarrassed, though, as Villanelle had started kissing from her knee up to her hip bone, hands trailing up the backs of her thighs.

It crossed Eve’s mind, then, that she didn’t expect sex with Villanelle to be like this. Not that she allowed herself to imagine it often, usually pushing the images away the same way she tended to bury her feelings for the other woman, but she was only human. Late at night, when she let herself go a little, she would think about how intense and hasty it would be, how they’d wrestle for dominance with teeth and nails, how feelings of love and hate would swirl around the room in equal magnitude. How neither of them would ever spend the night, just leave when one of them became exhausted, both women hopefully still alive.

As it turned out, Villanelle was… really sweet. She took her time, hands caressing instead of grabbing, and if she did nip Eve’s skin a little, she made sure to soothe with her tongue afterward.

Eve had the sneaking suspicion that Villanelle was only like this with her, which both boosted her ego and filled her chest with something like longing. She realized that she craved this softer type of intimacy, the kind she never thought Villanelle was capable of. And she wanted to give it back to Villanelle, too, unsure if she was cared for like this often.

Resolve in place, she guided Villanelle back to her feet with hands tugging up on the outsides of her shoulders. At the confused quirk of her eyebrow, Eve leaned in to give her a quick kiss on the lips, hands finding her hips so she could push her back toward the bed.

“Me, first,” Eve said, Villanelle sitting down when the backs of her knees hit the bed. Eve waited to see if she would protest, try to regain control, but she just shuffled to the middle of the mattress, eyes never leaving Eve’s.

“Good girl,” Eve praised, not even thinking, but when the faintest of blushes settled high on Villanelle’s cheekbones, she wondered if she’d accidentally stumbled upon something that demanded investigation.

Eve crawled onto the bed after her, pecked her once on the lips and then her neck, before pulling away to help Villanelle wriggle out of her leather pants, both of them laughing with the effort of it. Eve wasn’t nearly as nervous as she ought to have been, the lightness of giggling in bed with a beautiful, half naked woman (dressed only in a set of matching black, lacy undergarments, because of course) overwhelming her senses.

Villanelle tugged her forward and Eve landed in her lap the same way she had in the bathroom. This time, there were less articles of clothing obstructing their hands from one another, so Eve ran hers along Villanelle’s shoulders and collarbones, over her covered breasts, and down her torso, tickling her ribcage lightly as their tongues danced together. Villanelle’s arms wrapped around her waist then slid up and down her back, and before Eve knew it, her bra was unclasped, falling off her shoulders as Villanelle wasted no time pulling a nipple into her mouth.

Eve gasped, and, not to be undone, started working at Villanelle’s bra. She wasn’t as deft as Villanelle, not used to the motion of unclasping someone else’s bra, but persevered and was soon cupping Villanelle’s breasts in her hands. She held back a moan as Villanelle shifted her mouth to her other nipple, fingers raising to tweak the one she had abandoned.

Villanelle’s mouth slipped off of her with a pop as Eve pushed her shoulders back into the bed, indulging in the sight of Villanelle’s nearly bare body laid before her, her chest rising and falling a little faster, eyes hooded as she waited for Eve to join her.

“You’re so beautiful,” Eve whispered, and reveled in the way Villanelle’s breath hitched.

She leaned down to press her body against Villanelle’s, reconnecting their lips. Her pelvis shifted, inadvertently applying pressure between Villanelle’s legs, causing them to spread a little further, and the other woman gasped into her mouth.

Eve started trailing wet kisses across her jaw and down her neck, lingering for a moment to suck a mark over her pulse point as Villanelle started to make little keening sounds, eager for Eve to touch her lower.

“Shh,” Eve crooned. “Be patient. I’m not going anywhere.”

Eve only meant to refer to this particular moment, but when her gaze met Villanelle’s and she saw the intense, vulnerable look in her eyes, she realized that she meant it in the greater sense, too, the sense Villanelle was clearly thinking about. If she wasn’t able to move on from Villanelle after the attempted murder, she wasn’t sure if anything would be able to keep them apart. Especially not after this new relationship development.

And that should have felt scary, for a myriad of reasons, but it just felt really, really right. And Eve was sick of her mind fighting with her gut and heart, so she decided right then, looking into Villanelle’s golden green eyes, open and honest beneath her, that she would give this a try. Give them a try. Eve wanted something real with her, if Villanelle wanted it as well, of course, and if she was willing to put forth the effort, too.

She hadn’t even had an orgasm yet, but Eve hadn’t felt this high in a very long time. It was incredible, the relief she got from finally admitting something to herself that she’d kept hidden for what felt like ages. It felt like everything was finally falling into place, like the stars were aligning. All that cheesy shit that Eve had never believed in until now. She loved it.

So she kissed Villanelle again, and tried to pour everything she felt into it. She sought to ease her mind, assure her that she was in this, too, that Villanelle didn’t need to be nervous or worried or afraid, that Eve wasn’t going to leave her, not like she did in Tivoli, not like everyone else had.

When she felt Villanelle smile into the kiss, she hoped her message was received.

With that cleared up, Eve decided to get to business. She kissed down the other side of Villanelle’s neck and continued down to her chest, tongue dipping into the divot above her collarbone as she went. She brought a nipple into her mouth, alternating between swirling her tongue around it and sucking and biting, and pinched at the other one, mirroring Villanelle’s actions from before and drawing out a groan.

She continued her ministrations, switching sides after a while, until Villanelle started to writhe. She kissed a line down her torso starting between her breasts and ending just above the waistband of her panties, with only a quick detour to lick along the scar she had caused. Her hands smoothed along Villanelle’s sides and over her hipbones as she made her way down, feeling the notches of her ribs.

Eve glanced up to Villanelle as she hooked her fingers into her underwear, wordlessly asking permission. Villanelle nodded down at her, croaking out a “please.”

Eve slid the panties down and off long, smooth legs. She, once again, savored Villanelle’s beautiful, strong body lying completely open for her, and as her eyes drifted down, she noticed how ready Villanelle was for her, sending a bolt of heat to her own core.

She dropped a kiss to the inside of each thigh in appreciation before crawling back up Villanelle’s body, resting most of her weight on her left elbow as she hovered half over top of and half beside Villanelle. She brushed a lock of honey hair behind her ear, their eyes locked, then quickly skated her hand down her body before sliding over wetness.

Villanelle gasped at the sudden contact, one hand clutching Eve’s left arm and the other fisted in the sheets.

“So wet,” Eve mused, fingers gliding along Villanelle’s folds.

“For you,” she slurred, and Eve rewarded her with a swipe of her thumb over her clit, then started a simple side-to-side rhythm over it.

Villanelle’s hips jolted and she sucked in a sharp breath, and Eve found that it was intoxicating being in this position, having the power to make someone come undone, to help them feel good. She took a moment to mourn the years and years spent on the receiving end of average missionary sex. Why hadn’t she ever tried to branch out?

“Do you want me inside?” she asked against the shell of Villanelle’s ear, before biting on her earlobe.

“Yes, fuck,” she panted, and spread her legs a little wider.

“How many?” Eve teased her entrance with her fingers, feeling the muscles flutter in anticipation.

“T-two,” she grunted, pelvis jutting downward, trying to find some semblance of friction.

Eve slid two fingers in easily, and they joined the rhythm she was keeping with her thumb. “Good girl, so ready for me,” she purred, slightly out of her comfort zone with the dirty talk, but it was worth it when Villanelle let out a breathy moan and wrapped one arm around her back, pulling her closer, her other hand tangling in Eve’s curls. The angle made it a little more difficult for her to thrust her fingers in and out of Villanelle, but she liked it more anyway, enjoyed being close enough to feel Villanelle exhale against her face, their chests pressed together as they rose and fell in sync.

Eve slid in a third finger after a little while, and switched up the pattern with her thumb. The new sequence seemed to work better for Villanelle, evident by the way she was making some type of noise on every thrust and swipe combination. At any given moment she was either moaning, cursing, grunting, gasping, or calling Eve’s name, the latter of which hit Eve right between the thighs every time.

“Close,” Villanelle informed breathlessly, but Eve could already tell by the way her legs were trembling and how her walls were clenching Eve’s fingers.

So, after a few more thrusts, she whispered “you look so good like this,” against her sweaty hairline, followed by “come for me, Oksana.”

She punctuated her words with a particularly deep thrust of her fingers, a hard press of her thumb to Villanelle’s clit, and a bite against her pulse point, and Villanelle was crying out as she peaked.

Eve kept moving her fingers slowly through Villanelle’s orgasm, only stopping when Villanelle released her grip on Eve’s back and fell flat against the bed, lax.

Eve surreptitiously wiped her fingers off in the sheets, allowing Villanelle to catch her breath as she laid with her eyes closed, and thought, with some pride, that Villanelle looked thoroughly fucked. Hair a mess, lipstick everywhere except her lips, it seemed, sweaty and flushed face, chest heaving.

“You are really good at that,” Villanelle said, her tone impressed.

“Beginner’s luck,” Eve deflected, trying not to preen at the compliment, and hiding how pleased she was to hear that she was able to make it good for Villanelle. “You’re probably better.”

“Mm, I probably am,” Villanelle replied, and Eve found herself glad that she was getting back to her smug self. Although Eve relished the opportunity to learn about Villanelle’s more emotional side, and offer her some comfort, she could go without seeing her wracked with sobs for the rest of her life. It was unexpectedly painful.

Villanelle found the energy to roll onto her side, reach an arm out to press Eve onto her back, and shift so that she was hovering over her. “Practice makes perfect, though,” she teased, dipping down to kiss Eve properly.

She took her time kissing down Eve’s body, leaving a few marks around her collarbones and lingering on her breasts until Eve started gently pressing her head down. Villanelle shifted backward so that she was lying on her stomach between Eve’s legs, face hovering above Eve’s underwear.

She leaned forward to kiss her over the damp fabric, Eve’s hips jolting at the sensation. Villanelle chuckled as Eve bent at the waist to pull her own panties down to her knees, clearly eager, and Villanelle helped her get them the rest of the way off.

Villanelle looked up at her core, glistening and ready, and Eve nearly died and went to heaven at the hungry expression on her face. She looked like she wanted to devour her, and Eve was more than willing to let her.

Eve tangled her hand in blonde hair and guided it down, and at the first drag of Villanelle’s tongue along the length of her opening, she let out a guttural moan, its intensity surprising even herself.

“Ooh, you’re loud,” Villanelle noted against her core, and the vibrations went straight to Eve’s clit, drawing out a gasp. “I knew you would be loud.”

“Shut up,” Eve protested weakly, and pulled harder on Villanelle’s hair.

Villanelle obliged, plunging her tongue into Eve, effectively silencing herself and making Eve louder. Her nose bumped against Eve’s clit as she began a thrusting rhythm with her tongue, and Eve could have sworn it fried her brain.

Villanelle lifted Eve’s knees off the bed so she could slide her arms underneath her thighs, pulling Eve toward her and changing the angle to allow her to press in deeper.

When Eve wrapped her legs around Villanelle’s back, digging her heels in, Villanelle dropped one of her thighs so that she had a free hand to join her mouth. She pulled her tongue out of Eve and immediately sucked her clit into her mouth and pressed three fingers into Eve’s soaked entrance. Eve shouted, pulling Villanelle’s hair likely hard enough to be painful, her other hand gripping the sheets in a white-knuckle fist.

The suctioning sensation on her clit was overwhelming, and combined with the stretch she was experiencing from three of Villanelle’s long fingers, Eve was rapidly approaching the edge.

Her back started arching off the bed and Villanelle took it as the sign it was. She quickened her pace until Eve was moaning on every thrust, then curled her fingers in a beckoning motion with a harsh suck on her clit, tongue laving over it between Villanelle’s lips.

Eve came harder than she had in years, with Villanelle’s name, her real name, on her lips. Eve forgot her own name for a second there, ‘Oksana’ the only thing her delirious brain could seem to cling to.

Villanelle brought her down from her high with languid strokes along her folds until Eve was nudging her head away, oversensitive.

Eve lied on her back with her eyes closed for a while, catching her breath. She would’ve been embarrassed at how fast she reached climax if she were with anyone else, but she had prepared herself for the possibility that Villanelle would be exceptional at sex (and she was, she really was), so she didn’t dwell on it.

Eve could hear the shit-eating grin on Villanelle’s face when she asked “So, who is better?”

Eve kind of wanted to slap her, but mostly wanted to kiss her senseless. She sighed, and decided that honesty was probably the best policy. “You.”

She opened her eyes to Villanelle, expecting to see her glowing at the compliment, but she was sidetracked. Villanelle was lying on her side next to her, licking her lips and fingers clean of Eve. It was unexpectedly erotic. Eve felt compelled to roll over and kiss Villanelle and taste herself on her lips, so she did just that. She had spent so long wanting to touch Villanelle but fighting it, knowing it was wrong, so now, it was really nice to feel like she could touch Villanelle however she wanted and the other woman would likely welcome and reciprocate it.

And Villanelle did, grinning as she seemingly understood what Eve was going for, slipping her tongue between Eve’s lips to pass the flavor over to her. It was as hot as Eve had expected.

Their mouths slowed after a couple moments, though, and the mood changed.

When they pulled apart and opened their eyes, lying face to face on the bed, the soft look from earlier was back on Villanelle’s face. There was also a hint of nervousness in her eyes, like she was still worried Eve was going to walk out of her life after getting all of this out of her system once and for all.

Eve wished she could crawl inside Villanelle’s head and pluck out every single insecurity, worry, and fear that had accumulated over the past twenty years. Alas, it wasn’t so easy, and Eve knew that Villanelle’s problems with trust and abandonment would take a lot of time and effort to rectify.

Eve wouldn’t dream of being the one to set Villanelle back even further, not at this point.

She lifted a hand to brush Villanelle’s hair behind her ear, not even realizing until after the fact that Villanelle had done the same thing to her in Paris. She settled her hand on her face, thumb sweeping across her cheek. 

“You kept calling me Oksana.” There wasn’t an accusation to it, Villanelle was simply stating the truth.

(Eve had never heard her name from her own lips before, and found it infinitely more beautiful when spoken with the proper pronunciation and intonation.)

“I did,” Eve stated back.

Villanelle’s forehead crinkled between her eyebrows. “Why?”

Eve sighed. “I think that Villanelle is who you are when you’re working-”

Villanelle opened her mouth to argue, but Eve wasn’t finished yet.

“-or when you want to protect yourself, or when something scares you.”

“I’m not scared of anything,” she scoffed. “It’s part of being a psychopath, remember?”

Eve paused to search her eyes, but they weren’t revealing anything. “First of all, I’m not entirely convinced that you are a psychopath.”

Villanelle raised her eyebrows at that, clearly not used to people sharing that opinion, but let Eve continue.

“We can talk about that more later, if you’d like. Second, I agree that standard things don’t scare you. You’re probably not afraid of dying, or heights, or spiders, or needles. But I think emotional stuff does. I think you feel more than you say you do, more than other people think you do, and it scares you because you don’t know how to deal with it. You never got the chance to learn.”

Villanelle frowned, and Eve couldn’t tell if she was irritated at being psychoanalyzed, or just thinking Eve’s words over. Perhaps a bit of both.

“So, in my eyes, Villanelle is the person who ignores her emotions, who kills without remorse, who isn’t scared of a gun being pointed at her head. Perhaps she’s who you want to be. But Oksana is who you are in here,” she says softly, sliding her hand down to rest over Villanelle’s heart. “As cheesy as that sounds,” she jokes. “And deep down, Oksana craves love just like the rest of us. She wants to belong somewhere, with someone. She’s not as different as people made her believe.”

Villanelle was still skeptical. “You know they’re both me, right? Oksana kills people, too. You can’t have one and not the other.”

“By that logic, Villanelle feels things, too,” Eve countered, holding back a smile when the frown reappeared on Villanelle’s face. “Besides, I want both. I know that you aren’t really two different people that you switch between. And I’m not saying that Villanelle is fake and Oksana is real, either; I know both are real. My point is that I want to know all of you, not just the part that you show the world.”

“You want me?” Villanelle asked, a blend of incredulity and hopefulness in her voice.

“Yes, you doofus,” Eve chuckled affectionately, hoping that Villanelle absorbed all of her proclamation, not just the ‘I want you’ part. “I thought I made that clear.”

“Oh.” Villanelle was silent for a moment, and Eve was content to watch her work through whatever it was she needed to process. Then she smiled. “I want you too.”

“Good! Great, even,” Eve said, inwardly cringing at the awkwardness. She hadn’t been at this stage of a relationship (a relationship?!) in quite a long time.

Villanelle didn’t seem to mind, or even notice, lost in thought. “People only call me Oksana when they want to hurt me,” she mused, apparently still caught up on the previous line of conversation. “Except my family, I guess, because they only knew me as Oksana.”

Ah, so she did see more than just her mother when she visited. Another conversation for another time. “Well, that isn’t true anymore because I don’t want to hurt you.”

“No?” Villanelle asked, lip quirking up in a playful smile.

“Nah. I got it out of my system when I whacked you on the bus,” Eve teased. It was refreshing to finally be able to joke about something in their checkered past.

Villanelle laughed. “That headbutt hurt.”

“I’m not sorry. You deserved it.”

“I know.”

And maybe it was ridiculous that they were grinning, butt naked, at one another over their past acts of violence, but it was no more ridiculous than anything else that had happened to Eve in the past year. And how bad could it be if it felt this good?

She removed her palm from Villanelle’s chest so she could take her hand, fingers intertwined on the bed between them.

“Eve?”

“Hm?”

“Do you want to watch a movie?”

**Author's Note:**

> Soooo this was my first time writing both Villaneve and smut... I hope I did both justice! Let me know in the comments, and feel free to chat with me on Twitter! (@katquarius)


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